The Science of Cooking
by BelatedBeliever1127
Summary: Different variables control the outcome of any experiment, even with something as simple as cooking dinner. Sometimes, the most unexpected results of an experiment are the most rewarding.


**Hey there everyone! I got this idea a little while ago, and I really wanted to run with it! A little one-shot, just for fun! Thanks a bunch to Faithful Whispers for being amazing and helping me with this!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the turtles! Enjoy!**

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Luckily for me, cooking is a science, otherwise, I'd probably be thoroughly screwed right now. The chemistry involved isn't too far removed from what I do in my lab on a regular basis, but instead of creating retromutagen, I'm making spaghetti. Nice, easy, comforting spaghetti. Pasta and sauce. Maybe some garlic bread on the side, if we're being fancy. Anyway, I can handle this. It's just science. Science you can eat.

I check the temperature of the stock pot and of the saucepan on the range. The water's boiling at approximately 106 degrees Celsius and the tomatoes are simmering nicely, creating a thick marinara sauce. It can't be so viscous that it's like eating molasses, but it can't be too thin that it doesn't stick to the pasta. I am not the wizard in the kitchen that Mikey is, but I'm going to have to do the best I can. It's just science, after all. This is going to go perfectly, I just know it… it has to.

Inviting April over for dinner had been an impulsive action, but I hope that I can back up my bold move with something spectacular. I still don't know what I had been thinking when I blurted it out, and I can confess freely that I was stunned when she had accepted. She said that she would be here at seven, and that gives me plenty of time to work out some kind of miracle.

I have been working like a dog all afternoon, trying to get all of the supplies together and actually find a simple, yet delicious recipe to dazzle her with. I realize that I could have just ordered pizza, but I wanted to do something special. Something that she wouldn't expect. Something that would make me stand out.

I drop a large handful of dried pasta into the boiling water. The water reacts to the addition of the pasta and starts boiling more intensely. I add another dash of dried basil to the sauce and pick up the wooden spoon, gently stirring the contents with a steady hand. The rich red tones swirl harmoniously within the pan and encompass the spices. I am pretty impressed with myself; this is actually looking really good!

I raise the spoon to my lips, the aroma of the sauce making my mouth water before I even taste it. I can't believe I'm actually pulling this off! I cautiously sip at the sauce. The rich tastes on my tongue are delicious and luscious. I just need to…

"How's it goin'?" a singsong voice queried from behind me. Mikey's appearance was so sudden, I nearly dropped the spoon in my suprise. I glance behind me, frowning in his direction. My little brother ambles up and takes the spoon from my hand. Dipping it into the sauce, he takes a long slurp. I curl my lip disgustedly as he nods in satisfaction.

"Tastes pretty good, D," he says, curling his thumb and forefinger into an 'okay' sign, "though I think next time, you should pull back on the garlic. It can overpower the whole dish really easy."

"Thanks for the advice, Mikey, but do you mind?" I ask as I hold out my hand for the spoon.

Mikey looks puzzled, then brightens and hands the spoon back to me. I look at it for a moment before placing it in the sink and fishing another one out of the drawer. I place the spoon next to the simmering pot before turning back to face my little brother.

"Ze lady will be tres 'appy, mon ami." Mikey says in a ridiculous French accent. I just stare at him for a moment, though he doesn't seem to notice, or really care.

"Why are you talking like that?"

He spreads his hands, giving one of those sly smiles that he thinks makes him look cool, but he really just looks dumb.

"I thought I'd show off some of my Italian to set the mood."

I run my hand over my face as I shake my head.

"You were speaking French, Mikey."

My little brother scoffs and waves my correction away nonchalantly.

"Whatever."

Mikey lazily walks over to the freezer and opens it, cooing at Ice Cream Kitty as he grabs a Dreamsicle. He pulls the wrapper off noisily, wads it up and tosses it in the trash. Lapping at the ice cream, he nudges the door with his elbow before strolling back to the stove.

"Be sure to do that thing from Lady and the Tramp… you know, eating the spaghetti from both ends?" He winks knowingly and gives me one of his mischievous little smiles.

I can feel my face coloring at his suggestion. Unbidden, the mental image of April and I reenacting that scene from that old Disney movie appears behind my eyes. The blush becomes more pronounced and I stammer in my earnestness to get the words out.

"I-It's n-not like that, Mikey. She's just coming over for dinner. No big deal."

Mikey gives me that skeptical look that looks best on Leo. It's just weird when my little brother does it.

"Dude. You're making her dinner," he points out as he takes a big bite out of the ice cream bar, "It's a date, man."

I glare at him, but he ignores me. Mikey pushes the rest of the Dreamsicle into his mouth and tosses the stick into the trash. Casting a snarky little grin at me, he starts walking toward the kitchen door, his fingers interwoven behind his head. It irritates me to no end that he thinks that he's such hot stuff.

"Remember, D, if you guys need some 'alone time,' take it back to her place. My mind is still too innocent to be hearing all that stuff and the walls are paper thin in here." He's out the door before I can make any kind of retort. God, he's such a pain!

I look up at the clock on the wall and I catch my breath. It's 6:50! I've only got about ten minutes before April gets here! I snatch up a couple of the nicer plates we have from a cabinet and place them carefully around the island. Now for some drinks. I open the refrigerator and look through the different options. April likes Dr. Pepper, so I pull a couple of cans from the bottom shelf.

I pull up short when I smell something acrid behind me. The spaghetti…it's on fire!. I slam the refrigerator door shut and almost throw the cans of soda onto the counter in my haste. Rushing over to the stove, I feel dismay rising in my chest. The saucepan is funneling dark clouds of smoke and the contents has turned from a rich deep red to an awful murky brownish black.

"No, no, no, no, no!" I cry out in frustration as I shut off the burner and fan the air above it with a pot holder. I hear a loud hiss to my right. The pot of pasta is boiling over, frothy water spilling all over the stovetop. Without thinking, I grab the pot with both hands and jerk it off the stove. Boiling water splashes over the rim and onto my hands. The pain from the burn washes over my skin, causing me to cry out. I drop the hot pot on the floor, soggy pasta and steaming water spilling all over the floor.

I stare at the mess with rising dismay. My hands feel like they are on fire, but I barely register that in the wake of this catastrophe. I look at the pot of burned sauce on the stovetop with disgust. I really want to throw it in frustration, but my mind is clear enough to know that I need to take care of the burns on my hands.

Edging around the spilled pasta water, I walk over to the sink and open the cold tap all the way. Gingerly, I hold my fingers under the icy water. My body stiffens at the initial pain, but I grit my teeth against it. After a minute, my fingers feel cooler and I flex them experimentally. Well… at least this can't get any worse.

"Donnie?"

My head jerks up sharply and I look over my shoulder towards the source of the voice. April is standing in the doorway, her book bag clutched tightly in her hand as she stares at me. Turning off the sink, I turn around to face her, though I know I must look like a mess.

"A-April!" I try to put on my most charming smile, but it feels weak. "How long have you been standing there?"

She doesn't answer, just looks around the kitchen. I feel the heat creeping up my neck and into my face as I follow her gaze. The stock pot is lying just where it fell, strands of drying pasta sticking to the rim. The rest of the pasta is sitting demurely in a puddle of cloudy water. The mortification is just too much. I wish that I could just crawl under a rock and die to avoid the humiliation of this moment.

I close my fists unconsciously and hiss suddenly through my teeth. Jabs of stinging pain shot through each of my fingers, making me release my fists. April advances towards me with a concerned expression and she sets her bag on the counter. She grabs one of my hands and inspects it carefully. I try not to show that her touch hurts, but in spite of my resolve, I grimace. She seems to sense my discomfort because she releases my hand with a soft apology.

"Come on," she gestures towards the open door, "let's get those burns taken care of."

I hesitantly follow as she strolls into the living room. To my horror, Raph is sitting on the couch, curling a heavy dumbbell while watching the news. He looks up as we pass and he raises an eye ridge. I shoot him a warning look, hoping that he will get the message and keep his mouth shut. Raph rolls his eyes and turns his gaze back to the television. Softly releasing the breath I've been holding, I follow April into my lab and she gently closes the door behind us.

"Where's your first aid kit, Donnie?"

I clear my throat as I sit down on a metal stool. I gesture lamely toward a set of wooden shelves affixed to the wall.

"On that shelf. The red toolbox."

"The one that has 'Mikey - Keep Out' written on it?" April asks with a coy smile. I return the smile and chuckle lightly.

"Most of my stuff has 'Mikey - Keep Out' written on it." I am rewarded with a hearty laugh as she pulls the kit off the shelf and sets it on the table next to us.

"So…," I start, trying to think of something funny or witty to say to take the edge off of this embarrassing situation. The words aren't coming, I realize in a panic. So instead, I sit there dumbly, watching as she opens and digs through the toolbox. She looks so calm and collected that I almost feel intimidated.

She pulls a jar of aloe vera cream from the kit and unscrews the lid. Scooping out a dollop, she reaches for one of my hands. Heat pours into my cheeks as I allow her to spread the cream over the inflamed surface of the skin on top of my hand. The cooling sensation feels nice and I find myself relaxing slightly under her soft touch.

April's fingers gently massages the cream into the raw skin and she reaches back in for another scoop. I watch her movements, not able to take my eyes off of her. How can such a mundane movement have so much grace? Her lithe fingers are feather light, yet strong as they minister to my little kitchen burn. God, this girl is amazing.

"So, were you making dinner for us?" Her question jerks me out of my contemplation. She must know I'm staring. I raise my eyes to her beautiful blue ones.

"Y-yeah," I stammer, trying unsuccessfully to hold a steady gaze, "I wanted to surprise you."

She smiles softly as she rubbed the cream into my knuckles, her thumb running slowly over each one. Heat pours into my face and it's hard for me to breathe. She places my hand on my knee and reaches for the other one. I hold it out for her and she rubs more of the cream onto my fingers.

"That was really sweet, Donnie. Thank you. I was just thinking you'd call in for Chinese or something."

I smile a little wistfully as I continue watching her treat my hands with care.

"That might have been a little easier." I say self-consciously, the memories of my kitchen disaster returning at full force. She returns the smile and I feel my chest tighten. We sit in silence for a few minutes as she finishes lathering my hand with the burn cream and replaces it in my kit.

April pulls out a roll of Ace bandages and starts wrapping the tan fabric around my palm. She works quickly and doesn't wrap it too tightly. The pain in my hands has largely subsided, though sharp pinpricks stab my fingers as April pulls the bandages around them.

I look down at her shiny red hair, pulled back in a ponytail and the yellow headband finishing off the ensemble. It looks so soft. Part of me wants to touch it, but I know that it's too intimate a gesture. Too invasive.

It's easy to admire everything about her. She is smart, funny and beautiful. She has everything. And then there's me. I can never exist in her world. To the outside world, I'm just a monster. I can never have what the humans for granted. That's why I am grateful that April is willing to come down into the smelly sewers and hang out with a family of mutants. That she wants to come and see me. She makes me feel more human. Makes it seem like I can something more than just a mutant. I can be _her_ mutant. I'm so caught up in my thought that she finished wrapping my burns before I realize it.

"There," she says confidently as she ties the wraps securely under my wrists. I blink and flex my hands, feeling the rough fabric rubbing slightly against my raw skin.

"Sorry about dinner." I apologize softly. She touches my arm gently and offers me a small smile.

"It's probably a good thing that I hate spaghetti then." Her eyes are bright and mischievous. I can't help but laugh out loud.

"I don't know. It was pretty good… you know, before it burned."

"I'm sure it was delicious." she says, closing the toolbox lid. I step up, in gentlemanly fashion, and take the box from her hands.

"Well, since Italian's off the menu, how about some Chinese?" I ask lightly as I walk over to the shelves with the box.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and starts dialing.

"Way ahead of you."

I smile gratefully at her as she turns from me to place our order. Maybe tonight can be salvaged after all. I place the first aid kit back on the shelf, wincing slightly when the bandage scraped my palm roughly. My mind wanders back to the spaghetti disaster. In a way, it had turned out like a lot of my experiments. Especially the part where it blew up in my face. If the variables had been different, if I had watched it more carefully, things might have turned out differently. I look over my shoulder at April, who pushes her ponytail off her shoulder as she continues talking on the phone. If it had been different, she wouldn't have held my hands for fifteen minutes. She might not have smiled at me so much. Sometimes, unexpected results are the most rewarding, I think to myself.

A high pitched scream pierces the air from outside. April and I stop and look at the closed door with some alarm.

"My kitchen!" I hear Mikey cry out with devastation. I sigh, knowing that I need to repair the destruction to the kitchen. I look up at April, who is giving me one of her patented half smiles. I gesture toward the door with a shrug. She waves me away, not breaking from her train of thought. I slip out the door and head to the kitchen, steeling myself for the clean up. Chinese only takes about twenty minutes to arrive. I can get this done by the time it arrives.


End file.
